2.14.2015

Poesía / Fernando Paz Castillo

Poetry

The intimate,
distant calm
with the audacious impetus
of the haughty mountain.
The sleeping radiance,
redder than red
and less red
than the red,
over the restless flame
or in the dying flame.
The indefinite
point
from where the glance returns
unsure,
after conquering the nothingness
of its origin.
The good word,
the meek word
that after so many struggles,
and triumphs and defeats,
finds,
that it can only understand, silent.